


Working Through The Pain

by ThornyHedge



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Boys Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fill a Hobbit Kink Meme prompt: </p>
<p><em>Somehow during the shooting Dean gets hurt or falls ill and hides it since he doesn't want anyone to worry or to hinder the shoot. Once the day is done he goes back to his trailer and collapses or does his best to tend to the injury. Since the following day there is a Thorin/Fíli scene planned, Richard decides to go to Dean and talk about it; however, when he enters the trailer he finds Dean in a rather pitiful state. Over-protectiveness kicks into overdrive and he does his best to care for the man.</em> </p>
<p><em>I leave the illness/injury to your choosing, just nothing too serious. </em><br/> </p>
<p>If you are the prompter, please let me know so I can gift this fic to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Through The Pain

Ever since Peter Jackson called him to come back to Wellington and audition for the part of Fili, Dean has discovered that he has a bit of an overachiever streak. Because he is a replacement, he knows full well how easily _anyone_ can be replaced, so he works all the harder to compensate for that fear.

Perhaps that's why, during his second day on set, when he tries on his new Fili boots for the first time, he doesn't check inside them first. They are thick, intricate buckle-wrapped things with a four-inch lift to help make his height match Aidan Turner's. He is, after all, supposed to be the _big_ brother.

When he slides his foot into the left boot, he feels a slicing pain along the side of the appendage and he winces. Once both boots are on, he stands up and walks around a bit. The pain intensifies. 

"Guys," he says to the wardrobe folks present, "there's something sharp inside one of my boots," and he sits down again to slide it off. His white tube sock has blood along the left side. He reaches inside the boot and feels what could only be described as a nail poking into the foot compartment. "Is this a nail?" he asks, handing the boot back to the woman who'd handed it to him. 

Cautiously, she reaches in, and her eyes grow wide. "Leslie!" she cries out, and is quickly joined by a tall, thin gentleman with a measuring tape hung over his shoulders. "Whoever put the lift in these boots left a nail exposed inside. Can you fix them?"

He begins a feeble apology and she interrupts him. "I don't want excuses; I want results!" He slinks off. Dean decides he likes her.

She turns to Dean. "I'm Jackie," and she opens a drawer on the table in front of her, pulling out a first aid kit. "Let's see that foot. Take off your sock, Dean."

He slips off the garment to reveal a long scratch beginning about an inch behind his little toe and continuing to the middle of his foot, along the side. 

"Well," Jackie smiled, "at least you don't need stitches." She takes an alcohol swab from the kit and cleans it carefully, which burns like the dickens. Dean tries not to pull away from the pain. A tube of antibiotic cream appears next and Jackie rubs the area down liberally. This soothes the burn a bit, but the pain reappears when she bandages it. "I'm so sorry," she apologizes. "We weren't given quite as much time as we would have liked to put those boots together. I'm afraid our workmanship was rather shoddy."

Dean sits back in his chair, flexing the injured limb. "I'm sure it'll be all right, Jackie," he tells her. "It would have been a lot easier if the other Fili's boots fit me. I should be apologizing, too, for the extra work I've caused you guys."

"Nonsense," Jackie tells him. "It's our job. Take a little break, Dean. Have lunch. Come back around two and we'll have those boots fixed up and comfortable for you. We should probably write up an incident report about this..."

"It's just a little scratch," Dean tells her. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble. Stuff happens, right?"

She nods hesitantly. "I'll see you after lunch, Dean."

It hurts like hell when he puts his sneaker back on, but he doesn't tell anyone.

\- - - - - 

"Hey, you all right?" Aidan asks him when he sits down across from him at a table in the commissary. "You're walking kinda funny."

"I tried on my costume this morning," Dean explains, picking at his salad. "My feet are already sore from those lifts I have to wear."

"Ah," Aidan nods, understanding. "Rob was taller than me. Guess they want to try to at least have us look the same size on film."

"I'm sure it'll be better once I'm used to them," Dean spears a piece of lettuce and a tomato and starts eating.

"No doubt," Aidan picks up what appears to be a turkey sandwich and takes a bite. "Easy day today," he says around the mouthful. "We're re-filming some Bag End footage with you as Fili at three. Not too much walking I imagine."

\- - - - -

Aidan lied.

Dean's been on a set before, of course, but not in such heavy costuming. He's hot, cranky and his foot fucking hurts. Jackie's department, true to their word, fixed the boot. She'd even made sure they put a little extra padding in the left one to cushion his injury. He is grateful for that, especially when Peter has him traipsing across a table, picking his way over plates carrying mugs of ale and rolling around on the floor pretending to bounce pottery off his shoulders.

By 6 p.m., his foot hurts so much he wants to cry. He shovels down a bit of pot roast at dinner, then retires to his trailer where he strips off his sneakers and socks to check the wound. Despite Jackie's careful treatment, it is angry and red. He decides it needs to be exposed to the air for awhile, then soaked in some hot water. He pops some Paracetamol and sits back on his bed with his laptop, trying to take his mind off the fact that he was injured on set before he even had a chance to film.

He feels like a giant dolt and is determined to hide the injury from the others until it heals. Once the pain meds kick in and he's soaked it, he does feel much, much better. So much better, in fact, that the next morning he doesn't use any of the antibiotic cream Jackie had given him.

\- - - - -

He regrets that decision by lunchtime. His left foot is in agony. Even though Jackie had gone out of her way to make the boot comfortable, the unbandaged scratch is swollen, red and--he shuddered--oozing some yellowish gunk. He makes note of this development when he retreats to his trailer and takes off the boot and his sock. He has enough time to soak it, and this time wisely applies some of the cream and a bandage before going back to the set.

"Why are you limping?" Adam asks him quietly hours later, when they are filming another Bag End scene. 

Dean mumbles something about the lifts in his boots and prays Peter calls for a break soon.

"Can I come over later to run lines for that scene you and I have tomorrow?" Richard asks him when they're able to sit down and have some water. 

Dean agrees with a nod, so happy to be off his sore foot he would have agreed to roll in poison ivy.

"How about seven-thirty?" Richard wonders, smoothing out his hair and beard and taking a long swig of water from a plastic bottle. 

"That'll be fine," Dean says, flexing his foot.

"It gets better," Richard's blue eyes are solemn. "I promise."

Dean hopes so.

By the time six o'clock rolls around, Dean is miserable. _It's just a damn scratch,_ he tells himself. _Quit being such a baby._ But it fucking hurts.

He doesn't eat dinner, hobbling past the commissary building and to his trailer where he can finally, blissfully, take off his sneakers and socks. The edges of the wound are red and swollen and the scratch is still leaking fluid. He touches it, whimpering at the pain that shoots through him.

His mother would make him soak it in salt water, so that's what he does... again. And, he admits, it does feel a trifle better afterwards, until he walks around his trailer a bit and the pain returns just as strong as ever.

\- - - - -

He decides to put on some music and sit with the limb elevated. He’s just settled into a comfortable position on the couch with a book in one hand a beer in the other, when a knock comes on his trailer door.

“Dean?” a voice calls out when he doesn’t open the door. “It’s Richard.”

_Shit!_ Dean had forgotten the man was coming over to run lines.

“Come in,” he calls out. What else could he say? He doesn’t have time to hide his pillow-cushioned foot before the Brit enters. 

“Well, you look comfortable,” Richard observes. Then, his eyes fall to Dean’s injury. “Jesus, Dean… that looks bad,” he says, kneeling next to the couch and examining the extremity. 

He pokes it. Dean whimpers.

“I think you might need some antibiotics,” Richard tells him. “It looks like it might be infected.” He pulls out his cell phone and scrolls through his contacts, then punches a button. “Niles, it’s Richard Armitage. I know it’s after hours, but would you be able to swing by Dean O’Gorman’s trailer? Bring your med kit and some antibiotics. I have a feeling he’s going to need them. Maybe something stronger,” he smiles at Dean. “Thanks. I’m here with him, yes. Good man.”

He turns to Dean. “Niles Thompson is one of the medical staff. Let him take a look at you. You can’t work like this, my friend,” he puts his hand over Dean’s.

“Richard, thanks,” Dean doesn't know what else to say. To be honest, he is close to crying. “I want so badly to make a good impression on Peter and the rest of the cast, but it really hurts.”

“Well, hold tight,” Richard stands abruptly. “I have something in my trailer that can help with that. Be back in three minutes.” He returns in two, a bottle of amber liquid and two shot glasses in tow. “Okay then, do two quick shots before Niles shows up so I can hide it,” he grins, pouring the whisky. 

They each down a shot, then another. A knock on the door has Richard pushing the bottle and glasses under Dean’s sofa with his foot, smiling conspiritorially before getting up to answer the door.

Niles, it turns out, is quite nice. “Oh yeah,” he frowns upon taking one look at Dean's foot. “It’s definitely infected. Cut yourself on a nail, did you?”

“It was in my boot when I first tried it on,” Dean explains, wincing as Niles palpates the extremity.

“Well, I can get you sorted,” Niles reaches into his bag and pulls out some pills encased in plastic on a card. “Take two tonight, and one each day until they’re gone. These’ll knock the infection out of you. You have to keep the cut clean and covered. And stay off it as much as possible.”

“Can we discuss that with Peter?” Richard attempts a joke. 

“ _These,_ ” Niles pulls a bottle of pills from his bag, “are for pain. Take one—and only one—about an hour before you’re needed on set. Another around two in the afternoon. It’ll get you through the days until it heals.”

“I can’t thank you enough for coming here so quickly, Niles,” Dean tells him, shaking his hand.

“We can’t lose another Fili,” Niles grins. “There’s a shortage of hot blond actors in this neck of the woods.”

Dean turns crimson as he departs.

“He’s right, you know,” Richard smiles at him, returning with a glass of water so Dean can take his antibiotics. “We _can’t_ lose another Fili,” he repeats. “Besides, I’m rather attached to this one,” he tells him, putting a warm hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean forgets all about the pain in his foot when Richard leans in and starts kissing him.

THE END

  
_Or, is it the beginning?_   


**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so a wee smidgen of Gormitage ensued. Can you blame me?


End file.
